by T A Walters
Gregor glanced down to his boots in the thought that it was those Russian boots that were the first to hit the beach in America. It was an old pair of boots, proud and destined to be forever remembered by his and all generations to behold in a Russian Military Hermitage museum. He could barely hold back his excitement and the celebration of tonight’s announcement at Hunter Army Field.
Studying his footprint in the sand, he laughingly mocked the phrase: One small step for man: One giant step for Russia.
“Один маленький шаг для человека, один гигантский шаг для России.”
So far, of what he’d seen of America, he cared for not. Was it not for his brothers in arms that they would conquer and divide? Perhaps no; if events like today had not happened, it would not go as planned. Yet now that it has, the next phase will put in place a one world power. What was in store for America did not include Abdul Medina. In the first order, the White House will be razed along with Medina inside. The appearance of him and his countrymen’s camel shit will have no discern.
Gregor’s thoughts broke as he watched an open-topped Caterpillar vehicle roll down a ramp of the last landing vehicle. Gregor smiled. An American factory in Russia built a vehicle that ultimately served Mother Russia against the will of her American namesake. She was a beautiful machine. 4X4 with heavy-duty tires, suited for all types of terrain. Her newly modified 3208 cat engine was compact and light. Fitted with dual exhaust stacks and an intake snorkel to make amphibian crawling through American swamplands possible, she was hard to look away from.
It was time to roll up the red carpet and fall in behind the convoy of landing vehicles heading up route 80 to Savannah. This was the first wave of 20 waves expected before noon tomorrow. This first wave contained highly specialized air support crews who would captain the efforts of the 11th Reconnaissance Aviation Regiment with the latter groups maintaining support for a 4 wing squadron of SU-24MR Fighter/Recon Jets. Once in place, the Middle Eastern powers would be disassembled and destroyed in America and other regions around the world as well.
China has been useful to the cause. Like a tree that provides shade and lumber to build with, the tree then becomes firewood in the end–such will be the legacy of China.
Broken from his thoughts, Gregor welcomed the face of his 1st Lieutenant Виктор at the wheel of the All-Terrain Caterpillar. “General Sir,” shouted Viktor over the noise of the diesel. “Let’s blow this pop stand!”
Gregor smiled as he replied, “Yes, time to blow the pop stand.” It was an American slang expression Gregor knew. He had learned a lot about American culture from his stepson Viktor. It was in 1999 when Viktor was rescued; a little Albanian child refugee on the streets of Kosovo. The war had produced scores of children refugees; but out of them all, Viktor stood out like a child prince waiting for his appointment to a throne. At that time, Viktor was old enough at the age of 8 to know of his natural mother, and that she was from a place called America. Strangely, he walked up to Gregor’s wife Helena and took her hand, and asked her to take him home. From that moment on, Ronnie Brown became Viktor Chernik, the maiden surname of Gregor’s wife.
Viktor quickly became a man schooled in international protocol who rose in the ranks apart from Gregor’s influence. The Russian Army was fast becoming a profession that Viktor clung to; leaving the memories of his past behind. However, Viktor could not get enough knowledge of the modern American sub-culture and history. It was as if Viktor had led parallel lives. In all his Soviet upbringing, Viktor knew of all the events of history and life that went on in the US; mainly pop culture including the music and way of life. There was a time in Viktor’s life when he told his foster father Gregor that he was going to be a secret agent of Russia to the US. He felt confident that he could blend in and gather sensitive secrets for the Soviet Union. Gregor had it in his mind that Viktor was going through a stage in his life where he fantasized being 007.
Once on their way, taking the approach to highway 80, Viktor asked, “Have we any news on the US rebel movement in the Southwest Quadrant?”
“News travels slowly,” Gregor’s evenly toned response indicated he possessed a considerable amount of concern on the rebel outcome. “Whether or not Yankee Ingenuity applies, we shall soon see.”
Viktor nodded. “Spotter planes are a day out of reach, but soon that will change once we replace props with jets!”
Voices crackled over the radio, and Gregor announced, “They’ve heard your request.” It was a radio dispatch to the Carrier Fleet at sea from a return to base flight of one of the spotter planes. Details were sketchy as one of the two spotter planes were shot out of the sky by a rebel SAM site during fierce fighting with Islamic insurgents. It appeared Islamic forces have suffered heavy casualties, but to the extent of who was winning, is hard to ascertain from a plane scrambling to get safely away from the battle.
Gregor bowed his head, perhaps Yankee Ingenuity was still out there and alive. He turned to look at his 1st Lieutenant son who kept his eyes glued to the road ahead. “Perhaps the barbarians may not be the ones to soften them.”
“I gather that’s why we’re landing operations here,” Viktor mused, “which is to say: Never send a boy to do a man’s job!”
Gregor slapped Viktor’s shoulder and nodded in approbation with a grin. “Our plans are very long-ranged which shows the world the Soviet superiority through strategy.” The summit for landmark chess competition with the US is over. Now, the real game begins.
~~~~
On the western outskirts of San Antonio, Commander Bill’s convoy battalion had broken through mile after mile of blocked roadway. Abandoned cars and trucks towed and bulldozed away to provide passage for the convoy. Radio chatter boomed in across console speakers while radio request for grid numbers came over Kat’s headphones. From her perch above, Penny slipped down taking a seat next to Kat. She grabbed a pencil and pad and began taking down coordinates from enemy radar positions. Kat never hesitated between marker channels as she dictated enemy targets not readily seen by the men through the thickening smoke that hung in the air. Ear-splitting reports from bombardment units held stationary as all movement in convoy halted. Although the battle lasted only eight minutes, Kat could barely make out one of the M-1 Abrams Tanks emerging through the thick blanket of dust and smoke outside her small window.
Moments later, as radio chatter became more of a damage report than mayhem of battle communications; channel 2 went alive with a request from one of the convoy’s Surface to Air Missile spotters manning an FIM-92 Stinger (MANPADS.) Calling in a request from an AN/PRC-77 portable radio field transceiver, “We have at least one maybe two bird dogs in the air.”
“10–4 92,” Kat replied, “Standby …
We’ve got 2 bogies. One click, proceeding at 125 from 241. Second bogie at 18 departing; copy?”
Less than a minute later, Kat heard the explosion as a missile, and the Cessna O-2 Skymaster surveillance plane met head-on. Scuba Bill observed the details and though he didn’t show it, he was extremely proud of his fighting force. During the entire battle, Bill walked the ranks from the forward positions to the rear; his binoculars dangling from his neck as was the cigar clenched between his teeth. Bill pointed to a group of men standing nearby. “You men grab a halon charge and head over to that fire over there. I want that fire out, and I want it out NOW.”
Scuba Bill slowly walked toward the Auxiliary Power Unit. It lied on its side cloaked in flames. A thick blanket of diesel smoke filling the sky with the added black smoke of the trailer tires burning away from the rims. Barely less than 50 yards from the fire, Bill stopped; the heat too intense to go farther. He knew it wouldn’t take long before the rest of the fuel in the leaking fuel tank would light-up and explode. Clenching his teeth, he turned away and slammed his cigar to the ground near his boots. The AP would be a total loss if not already as Bill watched the men extinguish the flames. Hearing the raspy voice of Paul (the ratche
t) Monroe behind him, Bill turned to see a man distraught in the thought that all hopes of providing a regiment of support to the convoy were lost to the destruction of the only electrical generating systems capable of resurrecting the equipment and supplies from the underground storage hangars. “Son of a bitch!” was all Paul could say from the sight of the AP blaze.
“It ain’t gone, Paul. It ain’t gone until I say it’s gone.”
Scuba Bill turned and walked down to visit with the convoy’s chief mechanic. In less than 30 minutes, Bill asked Jess to drive up as close to the AP unit as possible so that Mitchel can get a look at it and advise Bill whether or not it could be salvaged.
Through Scuba Bill’s binoculars, Mitchel studied the smoldering wreckage of his beloved AP unit. “Generally, as long as the external temperatures didn’t exceed the normal operating temperature of the engine, I can safely say the engine is fine.” Mitchel slowly lowered the binoculars; a look of concern marked his expression. “I can’t say the same thing for the electrical wiring and components though.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well Commander, seeing the tires are destroyed, and the axles on one side look bent, I’d say get the loader and tow vehicle to set her up on the flatbed, and haul it to our new base camp. We’ll have plenty of time to make repairs then.”
Scuba Bill slowly nodded, a grin stretching across his face, “So you believe the AP is salvageable?”
“Oh yes, hard to kill a Cummins Diesel. I am more concerned about the wiring though.”
“I’m sure we may come up with plenty of wire,” Bill added.
“Hmm. I was referring to the wire windings of the generator that the Cummins engine is spinning? Yeah, it’s more than just wiring, it’s windings which is a particular sort of wire. If that baby is burned, we’re gonna have to get a specialist trained in rewinding a genset.”
Bill took Mitchel’s hand and shook it saying, “I’ll get the men to load the AP up, and we’ll get moving right away … thanks.”
“Oh and one thing Commander. Any chance a guy may get some sleep around here? What with the firecrackers you guys keep setting off and all …”
Just before exiting the transport vehicle, Bill turned and gave Mitchel a wink. “Working on that.”
Chapter 6
The Auxiliary Power Unit was still smoldering on the flatbed truck as the command to head west was given. Everyone in convoy was exhausted, yet Scuba Bill had them press on for at least another 100 miles before the spot where Karl Hennessy deemed a safe refuge for this evening’s camp. Joe Wyatt expressed his concern that moving a smoldering object through the winds created by traveling would cause the AP to reignite. That fear didn’t go without thought to the possibility, so Scuba Bill ordered Joe to ride on deck with the AP keeping fire watch. Armed with a fire extinguisher, Joe felt vulnerable to the dangers of either being burned alive or picked-off by a lone enemy sniper. Joe muttered under his breath, “Thanks a lot, Bill old buddy!”
Hours later, when things cooled off a bit, not even the AP held enough heat to keep Joe from shivering in the wind. During most of the trip, thoughts of Mary and him sailing off into passionate sunsets helped pass the time. Now, with it being too cold to hold a decent idea that didn’t revolve around icebergs and polar bears, Joe felt the convoy slow down and turn off the road. The sun was on the horizon, and all that Joe could see was wide open country, with the ghostly skyline of San Antonio in the distance. This was a landscape far different than Joe was used to seeing in Florida. Sparse groupings of trees and scrub reminded him of what he’d seen in western movies. The only thing missing was tumbleweeds. Joe always wanted to see a real tumbleweed, and strange as it might seem, to handle one and study it as he wondered how such a plant could survive to roam the countryside. Oddly, tumbleweeds represented freedom to Joe which was not something you could associate with when it came to comparing a rooted shrub or tree. It was the ‘sailor’ of all plant life.
The area off the road where the convoy stopped offered little cover from surveillance planes. In fact, it provided very little in the way of breaking the chilly breeze that swept through from the lands to the north. Having climbed down from the flatbed, Joe limped his way forward to the driver’s cab. Feeling stiff and cold, he rubbed both arms to sooth away the chill from his skin. Silence fell upon him as the engines of the convoy vehicles one by one shut down. Now, just the eerie whistle of the wind remained. Joe expected the sound of vehicle doors opening and slamming shut, but there was no such sound.
When Joe approached the driver’s side door, he saw EZ Rodriguez slumped over his steering wheel asleep. “EZ, you okay?”
“Go away man,” EZ slurred, “Let a man get some sleep.”
Joe blinked hard a few times while trying to think how many hours he had been awake. He looked down at his wristwatch. It had been at least 24 hours plus, since the last time anyone slept around here.
Hearing the sound of footfall coming up behind him, Joe sharply turned around as Kat was cloaking him in an olive drab woolen blanket. Seemed obvious he had pulled down a little sympathy from Kat. “My poor JoJo,” she cried.
Here was a woman that ran from hot to cold. JoJo? A few hours ago Joe noticed she wouldn’t give him the time of day; but then, she had her hands full taking care of business. He looked at her as she pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Kat was strictly business, and that made Joe smile.
The warmth of the blanket felt right, and it helped clear his mind however he sensed Kat was freezing to death herself. In the shivering tone of her voice, she told him how awful she felt about him out here in the cold. As she stood close to him, he lied to her saying it wasn’t all that bad.
“It’s Autumn now you know,” she chuckled.
“Gee, when did that happen?”
“According to my Almanac, it happened yesterday.”
“Hmm, Almanac; what else did it say?”
Joe could see a spark of light in her eyes, and with a bit of a grin, “It said something about getting colder, then warming up through October.”
Joe opened his blanket, and while Kat moved in, he carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. She enveloped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close, resting her head against his shoulder. “Does it get colder?” asked Joe.
He felt her breathe a sigh, “I don’t know Joe. Does it?”
~~~~
The last of the sunset drew a deepening chill that could be seen in the vapor of Joe’s words. Under the wrap of the blanket, Kat clung to Joe as he remarked how beautiful the stars seemed tonight. “There’s got to be billions of stars out this evening,” said Joe.
Kat smiled and looked up, “I just saw a shooting star.”
“Yeah, there goes another one!”
“And another,” she cried.
“Too bad everyone is asleep to see this.”
EZ Rodriguez slapped the steering wheel as he exclaimed while rolling up his window, “Why don’t you two bed-down somewhere! Some of us gotta get some sleep.”
Joe looked around with the realization that very few had left their vehicles and the few who had had already returned. The entire convoy was asleep, and without so much as a cooking fire to light the evening, Joe knew it was time to walk Kat back to the JLTV and call it a night.
Feeling a bit squeamish, Joe knew that Kat would probably expect a kiss when they reached the door of the JLTV. Maybe it could be just a friendly peck on the cheek or forehead. No harm in that.
At last, the time came when Kat stopped at the door and turned around facing Joe. “I guess this is goodnight?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close. Feeling the warmth of her body soothed away the chill. “Yeah,” he said. “I suspect daylight before you know it, and we’ll be back on the road again.” With that being said, Joe leaned forward and placed a kiss on Kat’s forehead. Joe seemed mildly surprised when he felt her shutter and push away.
“Sorry Joe. It’s just tha
t I feel a fever blister forming on my lower lip, and they’re contagious I think.”
“Hey,” said Joe smiling. “I’ve got a permanent cure for that!”
“Yeah, I wish … “
“No no, it’s in the utility box for this vehicle.”
Kat swung her eyes up as if she was looking for a clue in the sky above her. “Ok, so you’re going to find a special wrench for loosening and removing fever blisters? Maybe I’ll just go to Penny for treatment. I’m sure she has an ointment for fever blisters.”
Joe disappeared to the driver’s side door. Moments later, he appeared next to Kat with a can of Starter Fluid. “Open the door and hop in and I’ll take care of that fever blister.”
A confused expression crossed her face when she saw Joe shaking the spray can of Starter Fluid. “Ok, so this is a joke right?”
“Got a clean rag or towel?”
Kat held up her hand in a defensive expression of mercy. “What are you going to do with that can of stuff?”
“It ain’t stuff, Kat. It’s for starting cold diesel engines when the temps get too low for them to fire-up and run normally.”
Kat frowned, “I’m not an engine.”
“It’s just ether. Some Starting Fluid has lubricating oil mixed in with the ether–some don’t, like this one.” Joe grinned. “So it’s a perfect choice.”
“Ether huh?”
Joe sprayed a small wet spot on a paper towel and raised that to Kat’s fever blister. As he dabbed the area, he explained that a fever blister was the result of a small virus creature lurking around inside the blister.
“Ether will knock the little guy out, thus stopping him from making your blister itchy.”
